


A Boat on the Sea

by hesterbyrde



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Chiyoh is tired of your shit, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Injury Recovery, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Fall (Hannibal), References to Drugs, Sailing, Spoilers, will graham is indecisive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 16:40:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13345239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hesterbyrde/pseuds/hesterbyrde
Summary: The killing of the Dragon had felt so brutally clear to Will. In the moment when he pulled the knife free of his own flesh and tore after Dolarhyde as he closed in on Hannibal, Will had never felt more certain of who he was. Of who Hannibal was. And of what they might be together. He could have danced the ensuing bloody frenzy with his eyes closed. The undiluted, brutal fury fizzed in his blood and rang in his bones. Like the clarion trumpet from a watch tower. The long absent master had returned at last, and he was bringing his bride with him.But as Will and Hannibal held each other at the cliffside, Will could feel the world growing hazy again. Who he thought he should be warred with who he had been only a beautiful moment ago. The blood was beginning to dry, and his skin suddenly felt three sizes too small. The scales in his mind tipped ever so slightly, and in his desperation he tilted them further.No resistance but the wind.





	A Boat on the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings all!
> 
> Last year I was honored to have this fic published in the Fannibal Anthology "Radiance" which focused on the character of Will Graham. I was so pleased to be included, and now that the book is out, I get to share this fic with everyone.
> 
> Many thanks to LoveCrimeBooks for publishing my work! I couldn't be more thrilled that I was included.
> 
> And thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoy my little foray into the mind of Will Graham post-fall.

"Sometimes at night, I leave the lights on in my little house and walk across the flat fields. When I look back from a distance, the house is like a boat on the sea."

***

The killing of the Dragon had felt so brutally clear to Will. In the moment when he pulled the knife free of his own flesh and tore after Dolarhyde as he closed in on Hannibal, Will had never felt more certain of who he was. Of who Hannibal was. And of what they might be together. He could have danced the ensuing bloody frenzy with his eyes closed. The undiluted, brutal fury fizzed in his blood and rang in his bones. Like the clarion trumpet from a watch tower. The long absent master had returned at last, and he was bringing his bride with him.

But as Will and Hannibal held each other at the cliffside, Will could feel the world growing hazy again. Who he thought he should be warred with who he had been only a beautiful moment ago. The blood was beginning to dry, and his skin suddenly felt three sizes too small. The scales in his mind tipped ever so slightly, and in his desperation he tilted them further. 

No resistance but the wind.

If he was being honest, Will had been certain of his choice until the precise moment he felt both of them slip irrevocably into the clutches of gravity. He didn't know if he could live with himself. If he could keep living in a world where Hannibal still drew breath. If he could withstand the becoming long in the making that had finally begun at last. Not this… anything but this. It would consume him utterly. Or at least consume what he thought he should be.

But when the solid ground slipped away and the wind began to howl in his ears, that flimsy certainty guttered out like a candle in a gale. He wanted something, but it wasn't this.

In the moments before they crashed into the surf, Will suddenly remembered something from long ago. One of those memories never recalled until the precise moment when it appears out of the blue. He remembered when he was a boy, living with his father in a shack on an algae encrusted pier on Lake Erie. One of the dock workers on his lunch break had counselled him about coin flipping as a part of decision making. He'd shown Will how to flip the coin, catch it, and peek at it without showing anyone. And Will quickly caught on.

"That's how you make a decision when you don't know what you want?" Will had asked, watching the man as he sent the tarnished coin revolving into the air and then caught it more deftly than his rope-gnarled hands should have allowed.

The scruffy faced man shook his head, and handed the coin to Will. "Nawp. It's just that when gravity kicks in and sends that coin back down into your palm, you'll know what you actually want before it ever hits your skin. You ain't even gotta look at it to know what you really want to do. And that probably means it's what you oughta do."

Hannibal must have heard him groan and gasp in panic because he clutched him closer. And over the pounding of the rapidly approaching surf and the whistling of the air, Will swore he heard Hannibal's voice in his ear. Soothing him. Affirming his decision.

"Yes, alright. If this is what you want." he said, his breath humid on Will's shoulder.

And in that moment, which shone and spun like silver in the moonlight, Will knew this wasn't what he wanted. But his true desires still eluded him as they were swallowed up by the jawless maw of the Atlantic Ocean.

***

When Will awoke again, it was still to the sounds of the sea. His foggy thoughts were filled with a rhythmic sloshing, and he could feel an attendant rocking sensation that gently jostled him back and forth. But the sound was muted, though not exactly distant. And he found himself to be dry and warm, and apparently tucked into bed.

Pain was the next thing he was aware of. Every movement as he fought towards a seated position revealed another injury. His cheek. His shoulder. His side in several places and in several ways. He had the sudden urge to cough and shake loose the stagnant sludge he could feel rattling in his lungs, but every breath made his ribs crackle and scream in agony.

A boat. His brain finally clawed together enough sense to recognize his surroundings. He was below deck in some sort of small boat. And they were far out to sea and in rough water if he had to guess by the omnipresent rocking.

He tried again to sit up and get a better look, but only earned himself another blistering wave of agony in his ribs and shoulder, both of which were heavily bandaged. He grimaced, making the stab wound on his jaw spark painfully, and finally collapsed back to the mattress in defeat. 

Will took a few panting breaths to collect himself, and then looked over to his right at the other bed in the cabin. Hannibal lay upon it stretched out on his back with bandages peeking out from under the rough blanket. His skin was flushed and sheened with sweat. But the shallow rise and fall of his chest proclaimed that he was alive. That realization made relief twined with guilt snake through Will's gut with a queasy sensation made worse by the incessant rocking of the boat.

Will must have made more noise than he intended to when he'd struggled and failed to sit up, because he could hear heavy booted footsteps coming down the ladder near what he guessed to be the prow of the ship. A moment later, Chiyoh appeared wearing a pinched frown.

"You're awake." she observed blandly. "Don't move around too much. Not that you'll want to. Your ribs are broken."

"Yeah, I gathered." Will answered, his voice husky like his breathing. "H-how long were… since…" Words and the admission they outlined eluded him, but they could not hide from Chiyoh.

"Since you threw Hannibal over the cliff?" she supplied in a tight voice.

Will nodded as much as the laceration on his jaw allowed.

"Not quite two days." she replied as she began rummaging around in the cabinet at the foot of Will's bed.

"How's Hannibal?" Will dared to glance at him again.

She leveled a shadowed gaze at Hannibal's sleeping form. "Not as lucky as you." she answered, her eyes lingering a moment before she pulled a fresh bag of IV fluids from the cabinet and set to work swapping it out for the nearly empty one that hung from Hannibal's headboard. "He has been running a fever since yesterday morning. Though he told me this might happen. I've been giving him antibiotics as he instructed, but he hasn't woken up today."

Will felt hot and sick in a way that had nothing to do with the violent rocking of the boat, or the pain that thrummed through his body. As he stared at Hannibal's unconscious form, he could see, hear even, the coin still revolving in the air, its sharp edges glinting in the light.

"Where are we?" he asked, not looking up at Chiyoh. The situation was bad enough without having to weather her stormy frown.

"In the Northern Atlantic." she answered crisply. "Far enough out to sea that we shouldn't encounter anyone."

"Where did you learn to sail?" Will asked, his brow pinching a bit. "I didn't see a lake on the Lecter Estate grounds."

"Hannibal asked that I learn some months back."

He snorted at that, a thin smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "It's been three years, Chiyoh. He's been incarcerated for three years. You were free to do whatever you wanted. Why are you still doing his bidding?"

She turned smartly and fixed him with a withering glare. "You make it sound as if I had transformed into a beautiful butterfly that could freely go where it pleased." She bit back, the venom thick on her words. "I was alone in your country. In your world. I had never left the Lecter estate save to visit the nearby village for supplies. I've never been to college… I didn't even finish secondary school. Being able to go anywhere doesn't preclude the fact that I had nowhere to go."

Will didn't respond. He just fidgeted with a loose thread on his blanket and stared at Hannibal. 

Satisfied that she'd gained at least some level of contrition, Chiyoh went on as she continued to rummage in the cabinets. "After he was incarcerated, Hannibal put me in touch with the right people to get papers. His house in Baltimore was given to me in trust once the police were done with it. And through some of his contacts, I was able to secure a job as an interpreter. And before I knew it, I was back where you found me. The caretaker of the Lecter estate."

"Sans the child murderer in a cage downstairs." Will quipped.

"Skeletons need not always be so literal." she deigned to give him a small smile.

Will gave an acquiescing tilt of his head and waited for her to continue.

"For three years, Hannibal and I corresponded only in the most superficial terms. He would write, asking for volumes from his library or requesting that I subscribe him to various periodicals and scholarly journals. But then, just a few weeks back, he sent me a birthday gift, though my birthday was two months prior. It was a box containing a certificate for enrollment in a week long sailing course, and it was wrapped in a newspaper article. The one about the Toothfairy. He made some excuse about having no wrapping paper in his cell, but I knew better."

Will could only nod at the genius of it. "So where are we going?"

"To one of Hannibal's three hideaways on this hemisphere. Brion Island in the Gulf of St. Lawrence."

"Never heard of it."

"That's the idea." Chiyoh said, shaking a few pills into her hand and offering them to Will with an uncapped bottle of water. "It's a bird sanctuary, and not much else."

Will popped the pills into his mouth and swallowed them with a sip of water that quickly turned into several long gulps. He hadn't realized how thirsty he'd become.

"Thank you." Will said, a little sheepish.

"Thank him." Chiyoh replied, nodding to Hannibal, who still lay motionless save for his breathing. "I've long since been broken of the habit of getting in the way of people who have made their choices." With that she turned on her heels and climbed back above deck.

Will fought not to wince at her words. 

He tossed and turned as much as his injuries allowed. No position was comfortable for long. But finally exhaustion and the drugs claimed him, and the last sight that swam before his vision was Hannibal's sweaty, sunken profile. Will felt sick again for a moment before he slipped under. 

This wasn't what he wanted…

***

When Will awoke again, the violent rocking had stopped, but he could still hear the soft lapping sounds of water. And above that was the tinny chatter of seagulls. He blinked hard and took a deep breath of the salty air as he willed the waterlogged gears in his head to turn.

They must be near land, he thought. Perhaps they had arrived.

He looked to his left and found the bed empty. The sick feeling returned in a scalding wave, until he saw a small platter with grapes and a sandwich laid out on the table between the beds. A note with it was unmistakably written by Hannibal, though his hands were still clearly unsteady.

Will,

You must be famished, since it's been some days since you've had anything but painkillers and sedatives. Chiyoh tells me you're healing remarkably, and I'm thankful she was able to see to your wounds in my stead. I am slowly mending as well, though the infection has slowed my progress somewhat.  
Now that my fever has broken, I've sent Chiyoh back to Baltimore so as not to arouse suspicion. I am staying in the red and white clapboard house at the end of the dock. If you wish to join me, the key is under the flowerpot to the left of the door. 

Yours most sincerely,  
Hannibal

Will frowned as he picked up the sandwich. He didn't spare a thought for what or who might be in it as he nearly unhinged his jaw to take a bite. Hannibal was right, now that Will thought about it. In the wake of the initial rush of adrenaline at finding Hannibal gone, he was starving. The pain in his jaw didn't even compare to the gnawing ache in his gut.

"Yours most sincerely,"

Will squinted at the letter as he chewed. What was he being "most sincere" about? The location of the key? His recovery prognosis? Such imprecise language wasn't like Hannibal. But Will put it out of his mind and focused on finishing the sandwich. It was delicious… some sort of fish salad mixture with a peppery mustard that probably cost more per tiny jar than a tank of gas. 

Afterward, Will nosed about the cabin finding it well stocked with basic food stuffs, fresh water, extra clothes, a working bathroom, and a cabinet full of meds. It made him wonder if it meant that Hannibal didn't intend to stay here longer than necessary. Maybe just long enough to recover and then… Didn't Chiyoh mention that Hannibal had two other safe houses in North America? Probably meant there were even more scattered all around the globe. Maybe this was only stop number one. He found a bottle of water and chugged it to relieve the cottony feeling in his mouth and distract himself from all the questions his brain was screaming at him. 

Climbing the ladder to reach the deck was slow. Will felt weak and woozy from the trifecta of blood loss, hunger, and the meds. Plus everything still hurt. Even worse than before in some cases. The actual wounds were starting to close and the meticulous stitches and bandaging were certainly helping, but the bruises were just beginning to truly flower. Will could feel a bone deep ache where he'd been thrown around like a ragdoll by the Dragon, and where his shoulder had hit the sea, which might as well have been concrete. The memory of the impact, along with the fresh blossoms of pain arrested him on the ladder more than once before he made it out onto the deck. He refused to acknowledge that the sharpest memory of all was of Hannibal clinging to him as they plummeted. 

It was daylight outside, and Will was a little disoriented by the glare as he emerged. The sharp change in latitude and the gray film of clouds veiling the sun made it difficult at first to determine the time of day. But after a little thought and study, he determined that it was around 2pm, and the little sailboat was perched on the west-facing coast of Brion Island. The water stretched out before him, as murky as the skies, but placid. Much more so than the water they traversed to get here. 

Will paced along the railing, gazing out over the St. Lawrence Gulf and then reluctantly turned his attention to the house on the far end of the dock. It seemed so far away, and yet with its white boards trimmed in red, the house could not be missed in the drab landscape. And it certainly made for a good hideaway, because nothing about it screamed "Hannibal" from the outside. It merely looked sensible and seasonable. Will liked it, if he was being honest. Maybe that was why Hannibal had brought him here.

But why hadn't he taken him into the house? Or at least had Chiyoh bring him in. If he was awake and more or less able bodied enough to bring him lunch and write a goddamned calligraphy invitation letter, why not be there in person? Will knew with certainty that when it came to Hannibal no choice, or gesture, or word was without its motives.

Will leaned out over the water, watching the murky brown waves slop against the side of the boat. It was a nice boat. Not unlike the one he'd sailed to Florence all those years ago. He'd returned bloody and sore from that expedition too. Bruised and broken seemed to be the only destination he reached when he sailed towards Hannibal. 

Will let himself wander over towards the engine. Anything to distract himself from the maelstrom raging in his head. He was shocked to discover that there was a key tucked between two cushions by the motor. As he picked it up, spinning it around on its ring, a new thought emerged. 

Maybe… maybe he could sail somewhere else? Just leave Hannibal here. The boat was stocked after all. There was a month's worth of food. More if there was any fishing tackle onboard. He could just take the boat and go… where?

Where could he go? Certainly not back to Molly. He could feel his jaw crack under the impact of the well-deserved right hook he should earn if he showed up on her doorstep. Though deep down, he knew she'd never hit him. Not really. But the hurt expression on her face might do the job all the same.

And he certainly couldn't return to the FBI. The fact that he might be arrested on the spot aside, it wasn't like he would ever have a place there again. Not after this. Not after everything. And he wasn't sure he wanted to go back anyway. Part of him chafed at the memory of the bit and bridle that had onced hitched him to his teaching post. The carefully curated mannerisms and failsafes that kept people at a distance, and kept him at a distance from himself. That was over now. There would be no more separating himself from what he truly was. The genie was not going back into the bottle. Not after this. Not even if he wanted it to.

And he didn't. He didn't want to go back. Not back to the FBI, and Jack, and being knee deep in mad-men and corpses. And not back to Molly, and her sweetness and willingness to simply not look at the more unsavory parts of Will's mind.

Maybe, he mused… Maybe, he could just take this boat and sail all the way back down to Louisiana. Find that job fixing motors he had kept threatening to take. A quiet life away from everything. Start over. Again. But even that ambition, such as it was, rang hollow. There was no starting over after this. It would just be another hiding place. And he was sick of hiding. Of being invisible.

He had been seen. There was no undoing that. And there would be no unmaking what he had become on the cliffside. 

Chiyoh was right, he reflected. He could go anywhere, but that wasn't the same as having somewhere to go.

But he did have somewhere to go...

Will pushed the thought forcefully from his mind and slunk back below deck, groaning with each rung as he descended the ladder into the cabin. He dug in the cabinet, found the bottle of oxycodone, and tapped a few pills out into his hand without even a cursory check of the dosage. He dry swallowed them before gingerly lowering himself onto the narrow bed and allowing the drugs and an intense desire to not think about Hannibal to suck him under into unconsciousness again.

Hannibal waiting for him in that quaint little house. With dinner ready, and wine poured… ready to welcome him with open arms.

***

When Will came to again, it was well after dark, and the only light in the cabin was the one on the bedside table. He groaned as he sat up and looked around. The plate from lunch had been cleared away and replaced with another immaculately handwritten note.

Will,

I thought that you might like to sample some of the local fare on this island. It is currently puffin season, which is a delicacy in these parts. Very gamey, but nothing a healthy dose of red wine won't elevate. Enjoy with my compliments. It's in the small refrigerator in the cabinet.  
If you need help with your bandages, or are concerned about your recovery, don't hesitate to ask for my help.

Warmly,  
Hannibal.

Will frowned at the note, and then went searching in the cabin's tiny refrigerator to find the plate Hannibal had brought him. Dinner it seemed would consist of a whole puffin, roasted and stuffed with dried fruit of some kind, served on a bed of roasted parsnips and carrots. It looked like a giant ortolan, with its shiny skin and squat, plump little body.

Will shoved the memory from his mind and scarfed the bird down, only bothering to use the provided fork for the vegetables. He ate the roasted fowl with his hands, amusing himself by imagining Hannibal's expression upon seeing such uncouth behavior. It tasted no different than a particularly pungent duck, so Will wondered if the sacrifice was really worth it. But then again, he remembered, puffins were as common as seagulls up in this part of the world, so it was no great loss. Not like ortolans...

With dinner finished, and hands washed in the cramped cabin lavatory, Will laboriously made his way up onto deck again. The clouds had started to clear, and he could make out a few familiar constellations here and there, though he had to account for the change in latitude. 

The house at the far end of the dock was dark. One would be forgiven for assuming no one was home, but Will could keenly feel Hannibal's presence. He tried to distract himself with the sounds of the ocean and the stars overhead, but the sight of the darkened house kept pulling at his attention.

Finally, Will reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a quarter. As he stared out over the water, his back resolutely to the house, he thoughtfully thumbed the ridges on the edge of the coin. 

He could probably stay in limbo like this forever. Hannibal would keep bringing him meals and meds. They would never speak until Will was accidentally awake when Hannibal dropped by. But that thought galled him more than the painkillers on an empty stomach.

He could take the boat and sail south. Or east. Or off the end of the world. It didn't matter where he went if he made that choice. The destination was always the same. 

Away.

Or Will could go inside the house where Hannibal was waiting for him.

Will kept rubbing the edge of the coin across the pad of his thumb. There were unappealing aspects to all those choices. But only one of them held the promise of fear. And it was not fear of himself. Or fear of Hannibal. It was fear of what he might bring down on the heads of anyone he met once he was away from here.

He took the coin in hand, placing it over his thumb, and he flicked it high into the air. He didn't even bother calling heads or tails for any given side. He just watched it as it sailed up and up, turning end over end as the tumblers in Will's head finally started turning.

And when gravity kicked in, he knew there could truly be no other choice.

Will didn't move to catch it. He let the coin fall in the water with a soft plunk before turning and starting the long walk down the pier towards the clapboard house.

Just before he stepped off the long pier onto the dry ground, Will stopped and looked back, shallowly thinking that he'd left the light on in the cabin. The sight arrested him where he stood.

The little boat all aglow from within, rocking gently on the surface of the calm sea. 

He felt, for one thunderstruck moment, that he was suddenly standing in two places at once. He remembered standing alone in the fields back in Wolftrap, looking back at his little house with its windows streaming golden light into the cloying dark. He remembered feeling safe standing outside of it. Standing outside of the tenuous life he'd built for himself, that kept threatening at any moment to collapse in on him. And yet he had nowhere to go. It was his only refuge.

But that was then. He did in fact have somewhere to go. And the choice had been made.

Will turned his back on the little boat, and began hiking up the slope of the hill towards the red and white clapboard house. And though there were no lights on inside, he knew Hannibal was waiting and watching for him.

And probably hoping, too.

***


End file.
